


Fictober 2019 - The Haunted Mansion AU

by thevictorianghost



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017), The Haunted Mansion (2003)
Genre: F/M, Fictober 2019, cross-post from my tumblr, more characters will be added if they have speaking roles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-11-23 11:43:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20891561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevictorianghost/pseuds/thevictorianghost
Summary: When W.D. and his sister Anne Wheeler, realtor duo, are summoned at Carlyle Mansion to, hopefully, sell the place, they don’t know that what awaits them are mysterious deaths, ghosts, zombies and a mournful master who still longs for his dead fiancée named Anne… who looks terrifyingly like the modern Anne herself. But when the original Anne’s spirit still haunts these walls… can the past repeat itself?On hiatus.Cross-posted here: https://thegreatestshowstopper.tumblr.com/





	1. Ring

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is the first time I participate in Fictober! I don't know if I'll be able to write 31 days of these snippets of fanfiction, but I'll try! Wish me luck :)
> 
> thevictorianghost/thegreatestshowstopper

Phillip opens the velvet box. Anne gasps. The** ring** catches the light and reflects it in a million of colours. Set inside pure gold, a diamond the size of a fingernail. It’s beautiful; more beautiful than anything she’s ever been able to lay eyes upon in her entire life.

“Will you marry me?”

Tears itch at her eyes. She can’t. She knows she can’t. No, it’s not that she can’t. It’s that she shouldn’t. Their relationship started in secret, behind closed doors. He, the son of the wealthy landowner. She, the daughter of his servants. She’s fallen for those laughs and that smile and she’s come to miss the nights when they couldn’t talk to each other, about everything and anything. The state of the world, the new circus in town, their love of singing and dancing. They used to meet away from the prying eyes of Phillip’s cruel father. In the library and in the gardens and even running away to see the circus a few times. But now Master Carlyle is dead and buried and has left the mansion in his son’s care.

“Can I?”

Phillip’s mouth hangs open. His eyes grow wide.

“What do you mean? I… I don’t understand.”

“The world would never accept that.”

Phillip’s eyes turn from seas to iron.

“I don’t care what the world accepts or not. I love you, Anne.”

“You do?”

“Of course, I do. Now, can I ask you again?”

A laugh bubbles in her throat. His face melts into a grin. Anne straightens her back and rubs away imaginary dust from her shoulder.

“All right. Let’s try that again, Mr. Carlyle.”

“Will you marry me?”

“Of course, I’d love to!”

The ring on her finger, she falls in his arms and he falls on his butt. Giggles erupt from the both of them. She shushes him, he giggles some more. Then, they kiss.

Behind the closed door, one man watches through the keyhole.

James Gordon Bennett, the butler, leaves in a huff.


	2. Mindless

One look at the clock makes Phillip spring to his feet. His philosophy book tucked away, he crosses the mansion on light feet. Everytihng is getting ready. Decorations are going up. Costumed guests are arriving. Joys seeps into the walls and floor, joy this house hasn’t felt since his father was alive. That joy gets trapped into his throat when he stops short at the top of the grand staircase. Phillip looks down upon the entrance hall. There’s a knock at the door. And another. And another one. But Bennett, the butler, doesn’t move a muscle.

“Bennett? What are you doing?”

“I’m waiting for the guests, Master Carlyle,” he drawls.

“But… they have arrived.”

Bennett sniffs. “Those are not guests, Master.”

Anger boils deep in Phillip’s stomach. He blows out air through the nose. Slowly. Very slowly. Now’s not the time to make a mess… not tonight.

“Yes, they are. Open the door, Bennett.”

“Master, please.”

“Bennett. Open. That. Door.”

“Your father would’ve never…!”

“I’m not him and he’s not me. So open that door. That’s an order.”

Bennett’s jaw clenches. Still, he obeys. Phillip skips down the steps, hand barely touching the banister. He stops down on the first floor the second his guests tumble in through the door. The world bursts into sound and colour, laughter and whistles and oohs and aahs filling every nook and cranny. Mr. Barnum, Mrs. Barnum and their girls, Lettie and W.D. and Anne and Mr. O’Malley and the Lord of Leeds and all the friends he’s made at the circus waltz inside his mansion. Colourful costumes, 18th century gowns and Venetian masks adorn their bodies and faces. Some jump up and down (mostly Caroline and Helen) while others stare. Only one stares at Phillip, though. Anne.

They fit in quite nicely, he thinks. She does, too.

“Ooh, Phillip!” Lettie coos. “Look at you! And look at this place! I’m impressed.” She spins around and almost covers Bennett in the purple of her skirts. She offers her hand. “Hello. You must be Mr. Bennett. Nice to meet you! How are you on this fine day?”

“Ecstatic,” mumbles Bennett. But he doesn’t take her hand.

Bennett takes wide strides past Phillip, hands clenched into fists.

“Inviting circus freaks to a ball for a ball!” he mumbles. “Ah! That boy is **mindless**, I say. He’s lost his mind. His father must be spinning in his grave. Bless his soul.”

Phillip, head bobbing left to right, watches Bennett walk away. That man will have to learn. He’s stopped halfway through his thoughts. Someone grabs his hand and pulls him forward. Two someones, actually. Lettie and Anne march to the ballroom. Phillip grins.

He doesn’t have to be told. He’d follow them to the ends of the world.

Bennett be damned.


	3. Bait

“Daaaaaaaaaaaad! Michael wants to use Mrs. Squeak as **baaaaaaaaaait**!”

W.D. pulls his tired head away from the documents he’s been perusing for the past - has it been an hour already? He rubs at his eyes and stretches. A bone cracks somewhere down his spine. Hm. Maybe slouching on the sofa while working wasn’t such a good idea after all. Anne herself, lying haphazardly on her armchair, raises both arms towards the ceiling

“You should go to them, you know,” she says, scratching at her sweater.

“I wish their mother was here.”

Anne shrugs. “She’s only gone on that trip for a few days. She’ll be back in no time.”

“Yeah, well. We got in a fight before she left.”

“Did you, now?”

“She said I was spending too much time with houses instead of her.”

“You’ll figure it out. Don’t worry.”

“Daaaaaaaad! Megan doesn’t want me to use her mouse as bait for the spider!”

“Why would you need a bait for a spider?” W.D. shouts back.

“Because it’s scary!”

W.D. slumps in his chair, eyes closed. He rubs at his temple with four fingers.

“A scary spider. Great.”

As if some vengeful God heard him, his phone rings. W.D. clenches his jaw. He braces himself for another business associate’s bad idea or whatever. It’s never good news when they call at this hour. Anne puts a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll get it. You get the kids.”

“Got it, partner.”

He’s off to Michael’s bedroom, where Megan has already smashed the poor spider to smithereens with her shoe.

“See?” she says, rolling her eyes. “If you weren’t such a baby…”

“I’m not a baby!”

“Guys, please.” W.D. uses his best soft-but-firm Dad voice. Shoulders slumped, his kids look at him expectantly. “Megan, be nice to your brother. Michael…” W.D. sits on the bed and puts a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “It’s okay to be scared. And it’s okay to ask for help. But please… don’t use your sister’s pet mouse as bait. All right?”

“All right, Dad.”

“Good kids. Now-”

“W.D.?”

That’s Anne, down the hall.

“Yes?”

The light in the hall silhouettes her frame, cellphone in both hands.

“It’s Carlyle Mansion. They want to sell.”


	4. Freeze

A hand, P.T.’s he presumes, pushes Phillip forward towards the balcony. Lights blind him, sounds buzz in his ears. Then, she swings towards him. And time **freeze**s.

  
Her eyes. Her hair. The glitter of her costume. A piano’s soft notes. The air in his lungs. His eyes blink and she disappears for a split second. Then, she’s back into view. Still there, floating, fae-like. No. Angel-like. She’s ethereal. Like the circus itself. She _belongs_ here.

  
A rush of applause. She swings away.

  
“Who is that? I… know her.”

  
#

  
He finds her tent after the show and waits. She arrives right on time.

  
“What are you doing here, Mr. Carlyle?”

  
“I could ask you the same question, Miss Anne Wheeler.”

  
He faces closes up. Eyebrows frown and lips pout. Phillip swallows. A little voice in his head tells him this was not the right thing to say. Too late.

  
“What, you think my whole life orbits around my role as a maid in your manor? I was a trapeze artist long before I came to be employed by your father.”

“Why did you stop? You seem to love it so much.”

  
“Do I?”

  
“It looks… effortless for you.”

  
At this, Anne’s face softens. A hint of a smile tugs at her lips.

  
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Times got tough so W.D. and I took on a more stable job. But whenever the circus comes around, we get to do a few shows before they leave. It helps with our funds. We want to leave the mansion as soon as possible.”

  
“Because of my father?”

  
“Why else?”

  
They eye each other for a long, interminable moment. Phillip looks away.

  
“Anyway… you’re amazing. I’ll definitely come by again.”

  
“You don’t have much of a choice.”

  
He makes eye contact once more. “I’m sorry?”

  
“I know that gleam in your eye. You’re hooked.”

  
With that, Anne Wheeler walks past Phillip and closes the flap to her tent. Leaving him breathless and confused.

  
Thus, Philip leaves the circus. He crawls back into his bedroom using ropes of bedsheets and, later, pains to fall asleep. That night is only the first he’ll spend at the circus. Barnum and his crew pack their bags and go away, but they leave a legacy behind. That night, Phillip found something special with Anne - kinship. For two years, they wait for Barnum and his merry folks to come again. Waiting, talking, meeting in secret gardens. Then, when the time comes, Anne, her brother W.D. and Phillip run off to join the circus. Never to be seen at Carlyle Mansion again.

  
At least, that’s the plan.

  
Until the letter comes.

  
Mr. Carlyle Sr. and Mrs. Carlyle are dead.

  
Leaving their fortune and mansion to their only son. The circus runaway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the timeline is hard to follow. I really have no plan for this so continuity may change depending on the prompt. Sorry about that!


	5. Build

“Well,” says Aunt Anne with her usual optimism, “I guess we can go.”

  
“Yeah. Right.” He mumbles under his breath: “We’ll be rich, we’ll be rich…”

  
Michael crosses his arms over his chest and sulks in his corner. This place creeps him out. Really creeps him out. The bayou’s smells seep through his opened window (from a burst of nausea five minutes ago, thank you very much), the sun feels cold and wind whistles in the weeping willows. Mom’s car pulls up in the driveway. From up close, that house is even creepier. Whitewashed walls have gone grey from grime, overgrown with vines and even more weeping willows (but dead this time), swamp plants and what have you. The highest windows in the tower stare at him. Michael shivers.

  
Why couldn’t they go to Florida for a holiday instead again?

  
“Oh, wow! That’s a beautiful **build**ing!”

  
“That’s not a building, Auntie Anne,” counters Megan. “That’s a mansion.”


	6. Husky

W.D. is tired. He’s dead tired. Ha. Dead tired. Get it? God. See how tired he is? Now he’s making Anne level of bad jokes. Who knew a haunted house could make you so tired?

  
He’s tired of running. Tired of not knowing what’s going on in this wretched mansion. So as soon as he finishes getting the key from the zombies’ crypt with Michael and Megan, he jogs straight to Madame Leota’s room, grabs her crystal ball and makes his way to the attic. Michael and Megan are awfully quiet. Lettie Lutz, Tom Thumb and the Barnums follow behind like ghostly shadows. Honestly, while climbing the ladder, W.D. expected their angry whispers to beg him not to go up here. But no. They don’t. They just stare in silence.

  
“Be careful with me,” says Madame Leota. “I’m rather fragile.”

  
“Don’t complain. The only one who deserves to be fragile around here is me.”

  
W.D. rounds a corner and spots it. A treasure chest.

  
“Is that it?”

  
“Indeed, it is,” says Charity Barnum somewhere behind him, voice solemn like a calm wave crashing on shore.

  
“Now chap, hurry up,” presses Lettie Lutz.

  
The key fits like a charm. The chest creaks open.

  
There’s a mass of fabric, purple and covered in shimmering rhinestones. No, not a mass. A dress. Or… no, not even that. That’s a shawl. Cape-like. And underneath… is that a leotard? With… a wig. A pink wig. And tights.

Right. Anne - the one from the past - used to be a trapeze artist. So she needed a costume. Still. That looks… risqué, for that time period.

  
“Oh,” says Barnum. “That’s…”

  
“Her costume, yeah,” cuts in Tom. “Obviously.”

  
“It still looks new,” points out Michael.

  
“A little dusty, sure,” adds Megan. “But yeah, you’re right. It looks new.”

  
“Did you just say I was right?”

  
“Kids, please,” cuts in W.D. “I’m trying to think.”

  
He reaches underneath the piles of clothes. There lies a letter. An unopened letter. Old and aged and affected by time, whereas Anne’s costume hasn’t. How strange. W.D. breaks the wax seal and unfolds the parchment. A neat handwriting awaits.

  
“Yes, my dear heart; I will marry you. I will love you for all eternity. And tonight, at last, we will be together. I do!”

  
Lettie gasps. “She was about to say yes to his proposal!”

  
“She loved him.”

  
“Of course she did!” sniffs Barnum. “I always told you so!”

  
“Yes, we know, darling.” W.D. can clearly picture Charity Barnum rolling her eyes from the sharp sarcasm at the edge of her tone. “We’re aware.”

  
“Phillip needs to see this,” says W.D., pocketing the letter.

  
A husky voice comes from the darkness. A familiar **husky** voice.

  
“Where do you think you’re going?”


	7. Enchanted

Soon, the ballroom is lit from all corners with dozens of the biggest chandeliers Anne’s ever seen. Even back when she worked for the Carlyles, this place had never been so… lively. People laugh. Dance. Flirt behind coquettish fans and veils. Eyes gleam, music swells and skirts woosh on the dance floor. Relief floats in the air like dust bunnies. As if the mere presence of Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle Sr. had stuffed these walls to the brim. Cutting off all sound and joy. But they aren’t masters of the house anymore. Phillip is.

  
And she is, too.

  
There will be some getting used to. Her, owner of this grand place?

  
Well, why not?

  
Anne rubs the engagement ring on her finger. Yes, she accepted Phillip’s hand in marriage a few days ago, right after arriving in this mansion from New York, but her letter still awaits him. He’ll find it in his room, on the chimney’s mantel. Her official, handwritten response to his proposal.

  
Set in stone. Or in ink, really.

  
After that, nothing will stop them from getting married.

  
Her wedding dress is already being sewn together, after all!

  
“Enjoying the party, Miss Wheeler?”

  
Anne turns around, the smile on her face barely dimming. Mr. Bennett, the butler, stands there, eyebrow quirked and mouth set.

  
“Oh, yes, I do, Mr. Bennett! It’s so beautiful. I’m quite… **enchanted**.”

  
“Are you, now?”

  
“Yes! This party. These decorations… I know you and the other servants worked hard for this. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”

  
“You’re welcome, Miss Wheeler.”

  
Silence settles between them. Until…

  
“Mr. Carlyle has been asking for you. Would you mind coming with me?”

  
“Not at all, Mr. Bennett.”

  
The sounds of the party die down as they walk up the grand staircase and cross hallways after hallways inside the mansion. Mr. Bennett opens the door for her and Anne glides to a divan. They’re in her room, in the sitting area not far from her bed.

  
“I thought we were waiting for Phillip.”

  
“Indeed, we are. He’ll we here shortly.”

  
Mr. Bennett lifts a silver tray from the bedside table, uncorks a bottle and offers her a crystal glass. Anne smiles.

  
“Would you care to enjoy a glass with me?”

  
“Indeed! Thank you.”

  
He pours fine red wine for the both of them. They both raise their glasses.

  
Something glimmers in his eyes. “To… enchantment.”

“To enchantment.”

With that, she drinks.


	8. Frail

A knock at the door. Anne looks up from the romance novel she’s been reading. She crosses the room with pounding heart and shaking hands. She’s heard voices throughout the afternoon, with no one else at the door. Who could it be, this time? This place is starting to give her the creeps. But when she opens the door, there’s someone there. Two **frail** little girls stand in the doorway. One blonde. The other brown-haired. Smiling.

  
There’s something that upsets her about that smile. She can’t quite put her finger on it. Is it the way their eyes gleam with mischief? Or their pale moonlight skin, almost…?

  
Almost translucent?

  
“Who are you, girls? I’ve never seen you here before.”

  
“We’ve come to visit with our Daddy and Mommy.”

  
“Visit? But… the road is flooded in.”

  
“We arrived a few days ago. We thought Uncle Phillip would want some help.”  
“Oh, really? And what are your names?”

  
“I’m Helen.”

  
“I’m Caroline! Our Daddy is named Phineas and our Mommy is Charity.”

  
“Oh. And… where are they? Your parents?”

  
“Down the hall.”

  
Anne looks. There’s no one there, in the hall. Lightning flashes in a far away window and thunder rumbles. When she glances back at the girls, they’re gone too. The little girls have disappeared. Wind blows in from the hall. Anne shivers.  
Hinges creak when she closes the door with even more shaking fingers. Anne clenches her hands into fists. Really, her, Anne Wheeler? The one who used to knock down bullies with her wit when her brother came home with a bloody nose? Her? Scared of a haunted old house? Ridiculous! She’s halfway to her novel when there’s another knock at the door.

  
Another gust of wind comes, but not from the hallway this time. It comes from when she shoves the door open, eyes flashing.

  
“If you don’t stop those pranks, girls, I’ll-!”

  
Phillip Carlyle blinks. “Miss Wheeler?”

  
“Yes?” Anne barely relaxes. “What is it? Is there something wrong?”

  
“No, not at all! I was just wondering… if you would care to go for a walk with me.”

  
“A walk? In this weather?”

  
“Not outside. These hallways are big enough for a walk, I assure you.”

  
“Ah… okay. Yes! Of course. Give me a minute.”

  
And a minute later, she leaves, holding Mr. Carlyle’s elbow.


	9. Swing

Down and left, down and down and left. Mr. Carlyle and Anne walk around the mansion and he tells her stories - about the time his great-grandfather Cyrus and his aunt Nicolette got in trouble at a Christmas ball and the entire mansion almost burned down. 

  
“He said the whiskey was too good not to try afterwards, thought!”

  
Anne bursts out laughing.

  
She notes that he never mentions his own parents.

  
They reach the conservatory, where hundreds of kinds of plants muffle sounds. Some are poisonous, Mr. Carlyle points out. A gift from great-aunt Muriel. 

  
“You have a strange family tree, don’t you?”

  
His eye gleams at that. “You don’t know half of it.”

  
Mr. Carlyle pulls on a bronze lever from behind a particularly impressive carnivorous plant. The ground shakes and a rumble reaches Anne’s ears. A circle opens up like a gaping mouth in the floor and a spiral staircase pops open, one step at a time. A groan of metal echoes once everything settles. A shiver runs down Anne’s spine.

  
“A secret passageway? How… convenient.”

  
“Shall we?”

  
She takes his arm and off they go. A small voice in her brain tells her maybe this isn’t a good idea, to go into secret passageways with a man she’s barely met. But the pull of curiosity is too strong. So, Anne follows. Down and down and down, around and around and around. Torches lining the stone walls light up one by one as they go down. Anne giggles. It’s easy to get dizzy, but Mr. Carlyle holds her steady and delights her with more wild tales of his ancestors. Soon, they arrive in a room, large and cavernous. It’s dark and dusty in here. She can’t quite make out much. How big is this room?

  
A light opens from above, like a spotlight. 

  
Anne stares. 

  
It’s a circus ring. With sand and a trapeze ring hung on a long rope and everything. It looks like it’s been taken straight out of a novel. Or a movie. The bright spotlight silhouettes a balcony circling the room on all sides, posters of P.T. Barnum’s _Greatest Show on Earth_ and white and red curtains complete the look.

  
It’s an actual circus ring. Right under the conservatory.

  
“You like it?” asks Mr. Carlyle, a few steps away.

  
“I do!”

  
Before her brain can register, she’s in front of the trapeze ring. The metal is cool to the touch. But if she could… Anne hoists herself up with an ease she doesn’t understand and sits on the trapeze ring. She smiles and** swing**s around, like a kid on a playground.

  
“I’ve never done trapeze before.”

  
She looks up at Mr. Carlyle. He’s staring. Mouth agape and eyes wide.

  
“What?”

  
He stares some more, then clears his throat. Phillip bows his head. The moment has passed. “Nothing. You just reminded me of… No. It’s nothing.”

  
Anne swings some more. Music drifts in her ear. Piano notes. But there’s nothing playing. Speakers, maybe? No. The sound is too… it sounds like from a dream.

  
A dream.

  
“I used to dream I could do trapeze.”

  
Mr. Carlyle’s head snaps up.

  
“Did you?”

  
“Hm, hm! My brother always thought it was creepy. Our mother says it’s because I watched too many movies when I was a kid. And I thought… I thought it was because I was a circus performer in another life.” Anne laughs at the idea. 

“That’s silly, isn’t it?”

  
“No. It’s not silly at all. It makes sense.”

  
“What do you mean?”

  
Mr. Carlyle crosses the circus ring in a few long stride. Sand puffs up on his black pants. He offers her his hand this time. “Come. There’s something I need to show you.”

  
“Something more fascinating than this circus ring under your mansion?”

  
“I bet you’re… dying to see the ballroom, aren’t you?”

  
“I thought you’d never ask!”

  
She jumps down from the trapeze rings, grabs onto his hand and follows. Soon enough, they’re out of the cavernous room and back at the foot of the spiral staircase. Around them, there’s nothing but flickering torchlight and stone walls.  
Anne pouts. “Do we have to go back up that staircase? All the way? My feet are already killing me at the thought.”

  
Mr. Carlyle chuckles. “Of course not.”

  
Mr. Carlyle pulls another lever. A part of the stone wall creaks open. A secret door.

  
Leading to an elevator.

  
“Huh! Your mansion is full of surprises, Mr. Carlyle.”

  
“Please. Call me Phillip. And you have no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit longer. Sorry this one took a bit longer to write! I’m going to skip ahead those that I missed out on; the upcoming prompts don’t really interest me. So who knows what I’ll right next? :)


End file.
